


you've been lonely too long (let me hold your hand)

by sapphicish



Category: Chilling Adventures of Sabrina (TV 2018)
Genre: (unfortunately), Canon Compliant, Dialogue Light, F/F, Post-Season/Series 03, marie lafleur love and respect squad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-01
Updated: 2020-02-01
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:35:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22516333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sapphicish/pseuds/sapphicish
Summary: She wanted to ask all about Zelda, all about the way she moved and thought, all about everything she'd ever known just so that she would know Zelda in and out, and grow close enough that it was like they were one.Then Marie reminded herself that they had known each other only such a short time, and it wouldn't do to scare her off.Witches were so easy to scare off.
Relationships: Zelda Spellman/Mambo Marie LaFleur
Comments: 18
Kudos: 152





	you've been lonely too long (let me hold your hand)

**Author's Note:**

> s3 was bad and i dont remember a lot of the plot details and i dont want to rewatch it so if anything is off in this fic...u know

Marie rolled over onto her side with a yawn, then froze as a familiar pair of eyes met her own. It was unexpected – every time they'd slept together before this had seen her waking before Zelda. It wasn't unusual. Marie had been an early riser for as long as she could recall, waking with the sun as a child and even now as a woman. It was different now. Now she was in Greendale, not New Orleans. Now she opened her eyes not to bright, glaring sunlight but to a dark chamber with all the curtains drawn, because that was how Zelda liked it. Whenever she did look out of the window, it was to a crisp blanket of fog fading into the silent forest around the mortuary, something that was so unlike the heady warmth and loud noise she was used to that it made her a little homesick, though not enough to consider leaving.

After all, it was such a small price to pay for such beautiful company.

In the weeks following the end of their battle with the Pagans, Marie had chosen her new chambers with privacy in mind: a large room located at one end of the church so to avoid the students and hedge witches alike, particularly Gryla who insisted that her boys needed space to play (and that space just so happened to be most of the church at odd hours of the night). She filled it with pops of sunset color in rugs and tapestries, and draped colorful curtains from the posts of her new bed, bigger than she was used to. She lined wide shelves with vials and tonics, and filled cabinets with her herbs and oils, and welcomed in the curious students who dared to flock to her little corner of the church to ask questions, wide-eyed and gently interested. Some of them weren't so much, more prideful and demanding until they realized that sort of behavior didn't touch Marie, didn't bother her even a little but also did nothing to win her over. It amused her to see the many ways in which they tried to make it up to her afterwards, all in return for just a bit of teaching.

Later, at the end of the month, at a rare moment of peace within all the chaos, Zelda came to her in the night when all the others in the church — even Pesta, who often preferred to linger outside, spreading her rot where she would not be scolded for it — were sound asleep. They sat together, the witch filling the air with smoke from her cigarette, and Marie watched the way she sucked on it, the way her cheeks hollowed, the way her lips parted when she pulled away to exhale another thick plume of smoke. Sometimes it came in rings, lazy and swirling.

They hadn't spoken much, but Marie knew that more than anything could be one of the greatest signs of shared companionship – a warmth that didn't have to be expanded on, a gentleness in the air that could just happily exist.

Then Zelda had leaned across the space between their seats and kissed her, not for the first time, and Marie had, of course, kissed back, because she wasn't a madwoman. And Zelda tasted good – and better, when Marie got between her legs some minutes later.

That _was_ for the first time.

Zelda had left deep scratches along her spine, and harsh marks from her teeth against her throat and plenty of other places, left to bloom in deep purple shades, demanding the same of her like she didn't know how else to do things. Marie had known people like that before, and it didn't bother her any to spend their first few times together coaxing Zelda gently from that learned behavior, the precipice that demanded pain—more hers than Marie's, which was a curious revelation. Marie never had believed that pain in the bedroom should be unequal unless talked about beforehand, after all. And she had assumed, perhaps too soon, that Zelda would have liked to _give_ more than to _receive._

But they didn't talk at all, not really—not during, not after, and rarely before. The first handful of times had been rushed, more than Marie was used to. Zelda was all sweet passion and hard desperation up until it ended, where then she would depart silently, thinking that Marie had fallen asleep. Marie never stopped her, if only because she knew that it was what she wanted—even what she _needed._

Now she knew Zelda had grown comfortable with her, or she would not have allowed her bed to be shared like this, and Marie preferred her bed to any other, if she was being honest with herself. It smelled like Zelda, and the mortuary was quieter, more peaceful than the church. What was not to like?

There was work still to be done, with this, with everything, but Marie enjoyed a bit of a challenge, and it was so worth it, like the spicy bite of a pepper before it settled all pleasant and warm in her stomach.

“Awake so soon, _ma chérie?_ ”

Zelda smiled, her eyes like a cool and calm sea. The smile didn't reach them, and Marie was used to that, enough that it brought no concern bubbling to the surface. “It would appear so. Good morning.”

“And to you.” Marie stretched, then slipped closer, a hand drifting lightly along the silk of the peach negligee the other woman wore. She tucked her chin in against the witch's shoulder, breathed in deeply against her neck. Zelda smelled like sweat and trembled just a little against her, like the aftershock of an earthquake. A nightmare, then, Marie thought. No surprise. She had already been witness to such terrible traumas in the Spellman house, and heard plenty tales of the events that came before, those she hadn't been present for. There were more yet to come. She felt it in the air like a shark smelled blood in the water.

The warring was not over yet.

Marie didn't say that now, of course. It had already been said. Zelda did not underestimate her or push her warnings aside, like she might have earlier on. Now, things had been shared—now, Marie had protected her, had sat with her corpse and ran fingers through that soft hair, had sworn allegiance to her. And, through her, she supposed also to the newly formed Order of Hecate. With such respect to them, this coven in particular, witches this side of the world were either too devout or too fickle—though Marie understood it. It was confusing to have your alliances broken and shifting on a whim, to have all you ever knew destroyed starting at the bottom, watching it all crumble. Again, and again, and one last time, all thanks to the ill-gotten powers of wicked men.

She had sympathy for Zelda, and she had affection; affection that she pressed now into the woman's hair and against her cheek, lips lingering against her warm skin. Zelda was unresponsive, lost in thought, and so Marie took the hint and stayed quiet too, until at last – when daylight finally started to glimpse through the curtains – there was a shifting against her and those pretty eyes raised to her face. “Did you sleep well?”

Marie smiled. “You know I did.” She put a special weight on the words, and watched the lazy but still guarded look in Zelda's eyes falter. She never would have taken Zelda for shy, but already she recognized well the way she swallowed, the way she avoided eye contact for just a moment too long. It was the same way she reacted when Marie called her _beautiful_ or _precious_ or _lovely_ with as much sincerity as she could muster, which was apparently quite a lot if it was enough to render a woman such as her completely mute.

Marie didn't say what she wanted to, which was that Zelda was charming, and that she looked breathtaking in the mornings, and that she ached to kiss her forever. That would have sent the witch skittering faster than anything else. Instead, she tangled her fingers in those light curls and brought her close for a kiss, something Zelda leaned into even after she'd tilted away from the initial touch. She did that often, like she expected something else, aggression in place of warmth, a pull instead of a caress. It was instinct.

Marie wanted to ask why. She wanted to ask all about Zelda, all about the way she moved and thought, all about everything she'd ever known just so that she would know Zelda in and out, and grow close enough that it was like they were one.

Then Marie reminded herself that they had known each other only such a short time, and it wouldn't do to scare her off.

Witches were so easy to scare off.

Zelda tilted over so that she laid on her back, staring up at the ceiling. Her hair fanned out around her head there, and Marie idly twisted a strand of it around her fingertips as she watched the rise and fall of her lover's chest, the flutter of her eyelashes when she blinked, the very slight twitch of her mouth or sideways dart of her eyes. She was beautiful here – beautiful everywhere, but especially now.

Marie turned and slung an arm across Zelda's middle, nuzzling against her shoulder. “What did you dream of?”

A ripple of tension ran through Zelda, and her eyes shuttered. “Pardon?”

“You had a dream, didn't you? What did it involve?”

They met eyes, and Marie didn't press. Perhaps that was why, within the minute, Zelda sighed and shifted briefly under her arm. “It was a night terror. Nothing more. I can't remember the details.”

Marie absorbed that lie, thinking about it, then nodded. “Thyme.”

“What?”

“Under a pillow. It helps with nightmares, you see. Or you can drink it in tea.”

Zelda stared at her. “Have you been talking to Hilda?”

“No. But if two very wise women in your life have suggested thyme as a cure for your ailments...you know what to do.”

Zelda rolled her eyes dismissively, sitting up and swinging her legs over the edge of the bed. Marie watched her, the way she sat still for a moment before breathing in deep and pushing herself up off the bed with both hands, crossing the room to the chair in front of the vanity where she'd draped her robe the night before. She wrapped it around herself, tying off the belt. “I don't need it,” she said then, where Marie had thought the conversation was long over. “I am _perfectly_ fine without.”

“I never said you weren't,” Marie said, leaning up on an elbow. “But no one likes a nightmare, hm? It wreaks havoc on the spirit, invites tension into your life...”

“Hilda's making breakfast,” Zelda said suddenly.

Marie fell silent. It was no doubt Zelda's intention—and it spoke volumes. This was not something to be talked about, not here, not now, perhaps not ever. And she was to accept that or forget about this: their growing relationship, which was one in all ways despite whatever walls Zelda put up around herself. There were many, but she had never had any trouble with that sort of thing before.

In time, everyone opened up to Mambo Marie.

It was all about patience.

“Ah,” she said. “Maybe I will go sneak a bit of bacon before Salem steals it all away, then.”

Zelda nodded stiffly. “By all means,” she said, pretending to be busy with arranging her hair to a more suitable state.

Marie climbed out of the bed and came up behind her, gently stroking her fingers over the back of her head and into her curls again and again, deep down to the scalp until a bit of that familiar tension melted away from Zelda's shoulders. She leaned in and kissed her on the cheek, back by her ear, looking at the sight they made together in the mirror above the vanity. It was a lovely sight. “My intention is never to upset you, _ma chérie._ I am sorry if I did.”

Zelda melted back into her with a sigh, but said nothing. Marie had been forgiven, and that was that. She gave Zelda a kiss on the lips, warm and lingering, then dressed and left the room for the promise of an early breakfast.

The following night, she tucked a sachet of thyme beneath Zelda's pillow, and when she was caught, both of them pretended not to notice.

**Author's Note:**

> i am not 100% certain about zelda dialogue either in my head or written out or else i would have had them talking abt zelda's trauma. maybe in the future 👀


End file.
